Pain reaches the heart with electrical speed, but truth moves to the heart as slowly as a glacier. — Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver
It’s beginning to numb me. The ebb and flow of emotion that hit me more like tidal waves on Sunday and Monday doesn’t overwhelm me. Not today, anyway. It’s evolved into a dull pain that I’ve given up trying to fight; I sleep in it, I shower in it, I function with it. It’s a blanket or my scarf or the music I keep shoved in my ears at all times.
I’m still not sure it has registered. I’m not sure what it’s going to feel like or what it’s supposed to feel like. I’m not sure what I’m confusing for an anticipatory cliché and what’s actually reality — like that I’m not hungry and meals don’t taste like anything, that classes don’t interest me and I don’t care what work I’m not doing, that I have no desire to speak to anyone who didn’t know him.
I’ll be fine later. But right now I’m not. Wrap me in a blanket, bundle that scarf around my neck and put my buds in. Let me cocoon for a bit. I’ll resurface with a fresh perspective. But let me have this time. Let me grieve how I think I need to — this is trial and error, right? Last time I checked, there was no formula for coping. (Hi, I’m Holly and I’m new here.) Let me feel cheated and lonely and angry and raw and regretful. Let me feel like the sun shouldn’t shine. Let me be sad.